


Can't Stop Falling

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: First Meetings, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 04:59:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12904590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: In which Harry is a shameless flirt, and Merlin despairs.





	Can't Stop Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: their first meeting.

Hamish looked up at the sound of the door opening and frowned when he saw who had just entered the lab. The very much _restricted_ lab.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Harry Hart sauntered in regardless, as blithely heedless of the rules as ever. He perched on the edge of the desk at Hamish’s elbow, long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle.

Hamish studiously ignored him, concentrating on the report he was compiling on Kingsman’s latest prototypes. Unfortunately, although not unexpectedly, Harry didn’t take the hint.

“You’ve been watching me.”

His fingers faltered, a second of panic at having been found out. His own fault for being so fucking obvious. Taking a breath, Hamish pulled himself together, voice thankfully as steady as ever when he spoke. “Aye. It’s my job.”

“Ah, not yet. You’re still in training, aren’t you?”

It was no secret that Hamish was being groomed for the position of Merlin, something of which he was proud. Although he’d only been with Kingsman a short time, he was already proficient at the tech side of things, but he still had plenty more to master. “I can hardly learn with my eyes closed.”

“True.” Harry was watching him; Hamish could almost feel his keen gaze but was absolutely not going to react. He would not give Harry the pleasure of seeing him squirm in his seat like a schoolboy. “So what have you learned about me?”

“That you’re incredibly irritating and have an ego the size of this estate.”

Harry laughed. The rich sound rolled over Hamish, warm and vibrant and dangerously addictive. “Very perceptive of you. You’ll make a fine Merlin.”

Uncertain if he was being praised or mocked—it was often difficult to tell when Harry was being serious—Hamish settled on a scowl and resumed his work. If he had thought that would be enough to dissuade Harry, he was mistaken.

“What are you working on?”

“Classified.”

There was a harrumph of displeasure from above him. “You’re not much fun.”

“I’m trying to work.” Harry’s lack of response was suspicious, and Hamish was right to worry, for a moment later Harry reached out to pick up one of the prototypes. With lightning reaction and cobra precision, Hamish grabbed Harry’s wrist and yanked his hand away. “Don’t touch that!”

Harry looked momentarily stunned, eyes wide with surprise, then he smiled as if pleased to have finally triggered a more fervent response. “I was merely going to borrow it to light a cigarette.”

“Sure, if you want your head blown off. It’s a grenade. And you can’t smoke in here.”

Harry’s pout was utterly ridiculous and Hamish looked away before it had the chance to work on his stern irritation. He belatedly realised he was still clutching Harry’s arm and released his hold, pulling his hand back as if scalded.

He tried to reapply himself to the report, but his train of thought had been entirely derailed thanks to Harry bloody Hart. Scanning the last few paragraphs with wavering resolve, he tried once more to dismiss his visitor.

“It’s very important I get this finished.”

“I’ll leave you in peace if you let me take you out to dinner.”

Hamish was very glad Harry couldn’t currently see his face. He kept his voice bland, disinterested. “I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

“Of course. You can’t be seen to have favourites.” Harry considered for a moment, twisting a little toward Hamish, hitching one knee onto the desk to bring himself just that little bit closer. That Hamish still refused to look at him didn’t discourage Harry in the slightest. “How about you agree to dinner _after_ I become Galahad?”

“You’re very confident you’ll get the position.”

“Oh yes.” There was absolutely no hint of modesty, just that self-assured swagger he wore like a second skin. “I’m going to win.”

Hamish rolled his eyes with exasperation he didn’t need to feign. “Christ, you’re insufferable.”

“ _Endearing_ ,” Harry countered.

“Infuriating.”

“Say yes and I’ll go.”

Neatly backed into a corner, Hamish battled with himself. He shouldn’t agree, shouldn’t even entertain the idea, but his tongue just wouldn’t form the refusal. Frustrated with his own weakness, and angry with Harry for being its cause, he balled his hand into a fist and pressed it hard into his thigh beneath the desk, willing both the fluttering in his stomach and the maddening, beautiful bloody bastard sitting on his desk to piss off and leave him in peace.

Clearly growing impatient, Harry decided to help the decision making process along, as was his wont. Hamish almost leapt from his chair when the toe of Harry’s highly polished Oxford ran up the length of his calf, exerting just the right amount of pressure to make his intentions perfectly clear and trigger the response he desired.

“Yes, okay!” He sounded embarrassingly breathless, warring between wanting to punch the smug grin off Harry’s face and kiss it senseless. He did neither, opting for the far more sensible choice of removing the issue altogether. “Now fuck off!”

“I’m going.” Still smiling like the cat that got the cream, Harry pushed off from the desk and strolled toward the door, immensely satisfied.

“Harry.”

Harry turned back, the very picture of innocence. “Yes, darling?”

“Put it back.”

Returning in a few long strides, Harry stopped behind Hamish’s chair and leaned over to place the lighter-cum-grenade back on the desk, using the excuse to place a hand on Hamish’s shoulder and bow his head close.

His lips so close that Hamish could feel the curve of his smile against his ear, Harry spoke, low and loaded. “I’ll see you soon.”

Hamish remained steadfastly rigid, denying Harry the satisfaction of seeing him tremble as the sound of his voice rolled down the length of his spine. Neither did he trust himself to reply, settling instead for glaring at Harry’s retreating back and cursing the day he ever set eyes on Harry Hart.

**Author's Note:**

> He doesn't curse it for long, obviously!
> 
> Title taken from 'Love Comes Quickly' by the Pet Shop Boys.


End file.
